


Access

by glanmire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Disability, Gen, Post-Cuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. Post-Cuba.<br/>Erik struggles with the idea that there isn't always wheelchair access for Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Access

There’s no ramp for Charles’ wheelchair. Erik clenches his fists. He’s not wearing the helmet today- today is about making amends - and he knows that Charles will feel his anger but he cannot stop. Humans discriminating against mutants is one thing- they have their petty reasons, fear and jealously- but the humans have disabled people of their own. He finds it appalling that there is no accessibility.   
“It’s quite alright Erik,” Charles says from behind him, always one to try and calm him down, even when it’s _him_ who is being slighted here, not Erik. Charles was always the better man. “I’ll just wait out here,” Charles continues. 

 Erik ignores that suggestion and flicks a hand, and as easy as breathing, Charles’ wheelchair is rising like it is weightless. He holds it aloft by the steel spokes in the wheels, and he is just about to levitate Charles up the steps when Charles speaks, angrier than he was before.   
“Put me down Erik,” he says, that lightness in his voice gone.   
This ought to be funny. Once, they would have laughed about it. Charles even once held a gun to Erik’s temple and they still found it hilarious.   
It isn’t humorous anymore. Charles is clenching the sides of the wheelchair tight and Erik drops it again. Charles slams back to the ground, rougher than Erik intended, and for a second he feels ashamed, and then shrugs it off. Charles’ legs don’t work anymore anyway. It’s not like it hurt him.   
He _knows_ Charles heard that and yet his old friend does not take the bait. 

 Erik turns away and looks at the steel railing that accompanies the steps. In seconds he is twisting it, melting it down so that it flows down the steps like a silver stream. It hardens again quickly, and Erik turns back to Charles.   
“See? Your very own ramp.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice that he did not intend to be there. This was just meant to make things _easier.  
_ “Thank you Erik,” Charles says, but there’s no warmth in the words, and why should there be? If it weren’t for Erik, he wouldn’t need the ramp at all. 

 Charles does not comment on Erik’s internal monologue but instead wheels the chair forward. For all Erik’s work, the ramp is still quite steep. As he walks in behind Charles, he gives the metal in the chair the barest push, just to help it up the ramp. If Charles notices, he does not say. 

 


End file.
